


Doing It Properly (According to Loki)

by tinglebop



Series: Penthouse Pet [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Birthday Presents, Bondage, D/s, Dom!Loki, Dominance, Frosthawk - Freeform, Hand Feeding, Loki being nice, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Avengers (2012), Safe Sane and Consensual, Service Submission, Submission, Teenaged Clint Barton, Wax Play, but that's how Clint likes it, by being mean, ft. a single bee, sub!clint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-19
Updated: 2015-02-06
Packaged: 2018-02-13 20:49:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2164707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinglebop/pseuds/tinglebop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki's creative interpretation of the classic Midgardian birthday formula - presents, cake and candles - involving rope, duct tape, a Jag, and absolutely no tiny plastic candle holders anywhere in sight. Clint may never be able to sit through a normal birthday party ever again.<br/>-<br/>“Comfortable?” he repeated, and oh would you listen to that sarcasm. </p><p>Clint grunted something that may or may not have been <em>fuck you</em> – because no witness, no crime; you will never be able to prove he said that. But then Loki pressed a thumb over his windpipe and squeezed. </p><p>“Come again, pet?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tear the Wrapping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The following stunts were performed by trained professionals on a closed course. Any attempt to recreate these activities may result in rope burn, asphyxiation and/or damage to very expensive sports cars.

Clint sometimes wondered how he ever managed to hold down a job. 

Because sure, he was hardworking, punctual, loved to be part of a team and excelled at taking instruction (even if he did say so himself) but there was a certain moment – somewhere between seeing your boyfriend’s black convertible pull up ominously by the table you’re _in the middle of waiting on_ _,_ and being _dragged_ away, mid-specials, to be stuffed into the trunk of said shiny convertible without so much as a ‘by your leave’ – where one had to wonder: how had he not been fired yet?

More importantly, how were they not being pursued by police?

Why was there so little screaming?

Was everyone so used to Clint being abducted that the diners hadn’t even looked up from the menu?

A short drive later, not long enough yet for Clint’s heart to have stopped pounding, eyes wide and sightless in the darkness, the trunk popped open. He let out a pathetic whine when the light hit his eyes, shielding himself with a hand. From the amused snort above him, it was not an entirely convincing performance.

Lowering his hand, Clint was greeted by the startling green eyes and wicked grin of his captor. He had dressed in his usual style of understated Wall Street: a pale blue dress shirt, no tie, but silver cufflinks threaded at the sleeve, and grey slacks with a delicate pinstripe.  Reaching down, Loki fondly stroked the line of Clint’s jaw. His skin was cool and soft and Clint had to remind himself he was annoyed at the whole abduction scenario before he started purring into it.

And really, Clint didn’t think he was asking for too much. A courtesy call. A note on the fridge. ‘Out for duct tape and zip ties. Pick you up at three.’ _Anything_.

“Comfortable?”

He almost did whine for real. How Loki managed to drive him insane with nothing but his voice, he would never know. One word (and a kidnapping) was all it took for Clint to start sinking into the back of his own mind. He wrenched himself out again. Fucker wasn’t going to get it this easy.

“I’m in the back of your car, what do you think?” he complained, and made a show of squirming in the cramped space. Which was true enough; Jags were not built for their storage capacity and he was curled in the foetal position, knees hitting his chest on every speed bump. “I mean, try an SUV or something, seriously, haven’t you seen _Take_ -mmmhm!”

He was rudely interrupted by the introduction of a wadded up towel between his teeth. Before he could get his hands up, the demigod produced a length of rope and, pulling his arms behind him, swiftly bound him wrist to elbow. The ends were then wrapped around his chest, pinning his arms against his back. After Loki took off his shoes and socks, more rope went around his ankles, laced in a neat crisscross over his jeans all the way up to his knees. Next, a piece of duct tape that Loki tore with his teeth – and Clint would definitely have to break some home appliances to see him do that again – was slapped over the boy’s mouth, ensuring that he wouldn't be able to spit out the towel. Loki finished the ensemble with a length of black cloth over Clint’s eyes that he tied behind his head.

When he was done, all Clint could do was wriggle about like a fish. His breathing had grown deep and heavy through his nose, chest rising and falling heavily, straining against the ropes on every inhale. His limbs were useless. He couldn't see what was coming. He couldn't cry for help.

Squeezing the muscles in Clint's twisted shoulder, Loki asked, “You know how to make this stop, don’t you?”

Clint nodded. Behind his back, he snapped his fingers loudly three times. The way the car was built, it would be audible from the driver’s seat.

“Good boy,” Loki crooned.

He trailed his fingers down under Clint’s chin to scratch him like a cat – but cats weren’t nearly as ticklish as Loki knew he was, and Clint twitched with a high pitched moan, stomach clenching and bashing his feet into the side of the trunk.

Loki giggled. Actually _giggled_ , the bastard.

“Comfortable?” he repeated, and oh would you listen to that sarcasm.

Clint grunted something that may or may not have been _fuck you_ – because no witness, no crime; you will never be able to prove he said that. But then Loki pressed a thumb over his windpipe and squeezed.

“Come again, pet?”

Clint whimpered, forced his head back as far as it would go to relieve the pressure, but Loki just followed, slowly closing his fingers until Clint’s pulse was hammering in his neck. His hands opened and clenched fruitlessly behind him – but he didn’t snap his fingers.

Loki’s grip tightened, ever so slowly, and that made it worse – or better, really – to know that he could take all the time he wanted. Soon, however, Clint gave in, howling muffled apologies through the gag as his bound legs kicked.

There was no way Loki could have understood a word, but the death grip relaxed. Clint gasped and coughed through his nose, chest heaving for oxygen. Smoothing his back his hair, Loki pressed his lips chastely over the blindfold and then against the tape over his mouth.

Clint had time to let out a series of truly pitiful noises, shaking his head and writhing against the ropes, before the lid was slammed heartlessly shut. His pulse hammered in response. Loki could well have bound him hand and foot in the back seat, or even magicked the ropes invisible and let him ride shotgun. But no, he'd taken Clint's voice, his sight, and his freedom, left him completely at his mercy, and then just shut him in the trunk to be forgotten. It was enough to flush Clint red with humiliation. It was also doing amazing things to his cock.  

When he heard the driver’s door slam a moment later, Clint forced himself to take several long, deep breaths. He didn’t know where Loki was taking him, but he hoped to high heaven that they weren’t pulled over by the cops, because – one, he would probably self-combust with embarrassment if they asked Loki to pop the trunk and the son of a bitch just casually sauntered over and _did it_ , just to see the looks on their faces, and – dos, the situation in his jeans had been uncomfortable since Loki shoved the gag in his mouth and _insistent_ after the brief strangulation; he really didn’t think he could bear to wait through that kind of bureaucratic delay.

In the end, they weren’t pulled over. But – or probably _because_ – they stopped, six times for the lights and twice at intersections. It was driving Clint crazy. The Asgardian prince of Traffic Laws Are For Commoners had never in his _life_ stopped at an intersection before, why the hell was he doing it now? He had apparently also discovered speed limits, as Clint could hear other cars whizzing past them while their engine hummed ploddingly along. It felt tragically slow, which was just insulting when you were writhing urgently and uncomfortably in the back of a _Jag_. But then Clint remembered the old adage and tried to appreciate that, being the literal and proverbial body in the trunk, it was probably best that His Royal Highness stayed under the limit.

After what felt like hours, but could only have been less than half, they drove over a particularly lumpy stretch of ground that made Clint bite down on the towel as he was sent him pinballing off the sides. They slowed down to a crawl. Clint could hear every piece of gravel crunching under the back tyres.

Then, at long _fucking_ last, they came to a complete stop.

The engine wound down and the lid popped. Footsteps made their way round to the back of the car and Clint felt the adrenaline wash over him in a giddy wave.

He heard the lid being opened and turned his face blindly towards the sound. For a fleeting, terrifying moment of silence, Clint was afraid he’d fallen asleep and missed the part of the narrative that would lead to someone other than Loki standing there, staring down at him, sweaty and desperate and defenceless. But then there was the familiar touch on his skin, and that wonderful voice letting out a low, satisfied hum.

“I should keep you like this all the time,” Loki mused.

He stroked one long line down from Clint’s flushed cheek to his neck and shoulders, down his back and over the curve of his ass. The boy shivered, drinking in the sliver of sensation as it was heightened to electric by his blindness and incapacity.

“Would you like that, pet? Leave you bound and blind and helpless… waiting on my pleasure. Perhaps I would never even let you out. Just have you here, against the car, and then put you right back in again when I was done.”

The words sent blood rushing dizzyingly down to Clint’s groin. Loki gave his ass a squeeze, then worked his hand in between his folded legs. Clint jerked violently, arching back with a wanton groan. He tried to wriggle back into the pressure and pressed his legs together around Loki’s hand. The demigod obliged, pressing harder, letting Clint rut frantically against him until he was panting and moaning through the gag, getting closer and closer on nothing more than Loki’s palm through his jeans and the fantasy painted by his silver tongue, closer, closer –

Loki pulled his hand away.

Clint _wailed_ like his pet rabbit had died. His skin glistened with sweat and every muscle was trembling. Loki chuckled. Clint tossed his head and kicked his feet in a bona fide tantrum.

“Relax, pet. That’s not what we’re here for.”

“ _Mmmf?!_ ”

“You’ll see.” Then, with the ease of – well, an alien god, Loki plucked him out of the car and tossed him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift.

Clint’s head was still swimming with vertigo when Loki stopped. From the sound of his footsteps, he’d been walking on grass. There were no traffic noises around them, and Clint couldn’t smell gas or car exhaust, just freshly mowed lawn and dirt. Maybe a hint of pine trees.

“Hmm… this should serve,” Loki declared. He swung Clint smoothly around into a bridal hold, brushed the sweaty hair from his brow – and then just let go.

A half second of panic in freefall, Clint yelped, and then was dumped on his back, arms crushed underneath him. On the upside, it had scared the boner right out of him. He groaned loudly. But now there was moisture seeping into his back and a chunk of particularly angular dirt digging into his palm. He let out an injured noise and squirmed. A totally unsympathetic, Italian leather covered toe nudged him in the ribs.

“Up. On your knees.”

Blind and dizzy, Clint had to take a minute just to work out which way was up. Then, grunting with effort, he strained hard against the ropes around his chest, feeling the coarse hemp chafe the skin of his arms. He managed to raise himself about an inch off the ground before falling back heavily, panting. Loki tutted, and then Clint was crying out, twisting away as the hard tip of a shoe kicked him in the shoulder.

“Any century now, pet. I’m only _practically_ immortal, you know.”

Clint whined in his throat, flopping ineffectually like a beached whale. He couldn’t spread his legs and his arms were trapped behind him, bound specifically to force his shoulders back and his spine to arch in a way that stole all leverage from his upper torso – unless he hoped to push himself up by the fingertips. It wouldn’t be _impossible_ , not with his circus-trained core strength, but Clint still wriggled and moaned like he’d given up. Loki was a sucker for helpless and needy.

“Brat,” he eventually muttered, resigned, but definitely smirking, as he obligingly hauled the boy up by his bound arms to let him kneel.

Once he was righted, Clint pressed forward until he found Loki’s legs and nuzzled him enthusiastically through his expensive cotton slacks. On contact, he hummed in relief, rubbing his cheek back and forth like a touch-starved cat. Not being able to see made him crave every other sensation more intensely and the feeling of warm skin, even through cloth, lit him up from the inside.  

Loki lifted his face, running hands through his hair, thumbs over his jaw, then under his chin, down his neck, sending shivers rippling over his skin. Then he _ripped_ off the tape in one. Even though Clint was clean shaven, it stung like a slap in the face. But the sweet relief of Loki pressing cool hands to his burning skin was more than worth the pain. Next, Loki slid a finger into Clint’s mouth around the gag, stretching his jaw painfully wide, and then carefully worked the towel out. As soon as it was clear, Clint hauled air down his throat, groaning with relief. He sucked on his tongue to coax the spit back in and then licked the red, overstretched corners of his mouth. Loki’s knuckles brushed his lips and Clint kissed them reverently, then found the thumb and sucked it into his mouth.

“I have something for you,” Loki said, at length.

Clint almost rolled his eyes. Clearly, _somebody_ had been watching too much Midgardian porn. Still, he smiled and moaned enthusiastically around Loki’s thumb, pursing his lips to let go with a wet _pop_.

Something rustled in front of him. Loki wasn’t wearing particularly noisy clothes, but Clint shrugged it off. He probably had something fancy planned if they’d driven all the way out to the middle of nowhere – or so Clint hoped. He wouldn’t put it entirely past the demigod to make him give head on a football field at half time or something. Cutting through his train of thought just as Clint was wondering which teams played within a half hour radius of his work, Loki put a hand on the back of his head, pulling him forward and down. Clint wetted his lips –

“Mmm?”

– and met something cold, hard and entirely not what he was expecting. For one thing, it was being presented horizontally, and was very irregularly shaped, angular in parts and curved in others. Loki was still holding him down, so he gave the thing an experimental kiss, then a lick. It felt smooth, tasted like lacquer and smelt like wood. Clint opened his mouth to bite, test what it was made of, but Loki pulled it back.

“No. No teeth.”

He heard Loki crouch down, placing the mystery object on the ground. Then he was being pushed down, bent double over his knees until the pressure forced his calves and ankles painfully against their bonds. Then a hand guided his head until he found the object again with his lips. Loki straightened and tapped his cheek lightly with the toe of his shoe.

“Go on. Tell me what it is.”

So Clint tried again, tracing it all the way left and right with his nose and mouth. It was much longer than he’d realised, extending about thirty inches or so left and right. The arms curved slowly away from him, tapering at the ends…

The penny finally dropped when he found the string.

His hands jerked with the impulse to tear off the blindfold, or at least reach out and touch. He raised his head slowly, nervously. His pulse quickened.

“Loki?” He didn’t want to say it, in case he was wrong and the spell broke.

Loki hooked his toe under Clint’s chin to tilt his head all the way up. “Well? Do you know what it is, yet?”

Clint swallowed dryly.

“A bow,” he murmured, at last. “It’s… it’s a bow.”

It had been six months since the circus. Six months during which he hadn’t so much as laid eyes, let alone hands, on a bow and arrow since the Swordsman had snapped his over a knee and used the broken limbs to beat him senseless. He hadn’t dared go near an archery club or even stare longingly through the window of a storefront for fear that someone would be waiting for him. Suddenly to have the one thing he had ever done right ripped from his hands… It felt like losing a limb.

Loki’s lips against his drew him from his trance. There were fingers in his hair, pulling him close. A warm tongue darting out to find his. Soft, so soft, and gentle after everything else. Within seconds, Clint felt his anxiety abate and just let himself be swept along by the scent of winter over a clear blue sea.   

“Good boy,” Loki purred. A shiver went up his spine and then right back down again to the backs of his knees – how convenient that he was already kneeling. Clint felt Loki reach behind him, and then the cloth fell from his eyes.

This time, the light really was too bright. He blinked impatiently while his pupils shrank. They were, in fact, in the middle of an open field, empty but for themselves, with a line of trees in the distance and a dirt road to the rear. Then he looked down – and the air simply vanished from his lungs.

It was _beautiful._ Sleek and deadly in its simplicity, entirely black, polished to a soft finish. The wood grain was just visible as the slightest, silky glint, giving it the impression of having been threaded with silver. Seamless joins connected the composite sections, engineered for strength and flexibility. Clint wanted to take it out to the movies, maybe fool around in the back row.  

It explained their setting, at least. With any luck, Loki wanted him to show off. After all, he’d yet to see Clint fire a single arrow. Maybe he wanted to get dinner the old fashioned way. Or maybe he’d thought up some elaborate medieval role play. Maybe he just wanted to dangle it in front of Clint to see him beg. Whatever. As long as Loki let him use it, he would crawl over broken glass. Clint stared up, eyes round and bright with hope.

“It used to be mine,” Loki explained.

“You were an archer?” Now, there was a surprise.

The prince wrinkled his nose. “I wasn’t _an archer_. I practiced archery,” he scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. “Unfortunately, it was quite the fashion when I was your age.”

Clint couldn’t help himself. “What, eighteen? Isn’t that practically foetal for an old man like y- _uaarrgh_!”

Four long, cold fingers were shoved brutally into Clint’s mouth, pressing down hard against the back of his tongue.

“As I was saying,” Loki continued breezily, as if he wasn’t forcing Clint to swallow half his hand. When he tried to protest, Loki slid further down his throat and curled his fingertips cruelly, drawing out a high-pitched, gurgling moan. “Father won some boring war using Ichaival and all of a sudden, the entire court was covered in fletching. I tried it all of three times before I _accidentally_ shot our instructor in the ear. He suggested I pursue other interests after that.”

Laughing with your mouth full is a bad idea. Doing it while a sadistic Norse god was apparently trying to reach his stomach through his mouth made Clint choke horribly, then swallow by reflex around Loki’s fingers, which only made him choke again. Tears streamed onto his cheeks as he arched back as far as he could go, but Loki just gripped his hair with his other hand and held him still. Clint wailed, panting frantically. Behind him, his arms bulged and twisted under the ropes.

Loki let him suffer for a few more seconds, gagging and drooling, then let go of his hair and slid far enough back out of Clint’s poor throat that he was allowed to suck in huge, drowning gasps of air. But then he took the boy’s tongue delicately between thumb and forefinger and pulled it taut until Clint whined in urgent staccato –” _Ah- ah- ah_ -!”

“So. Do you like it?”

Clint started to nod, winced when it pulled painfully at the membrane under his tongue, and then settled for a highly articulate, highly dignified, “Ee-ugh.” (Yes _._ ) Loki was sharing his toys, it was easily the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen, and it was a _bow_. He _loved_ it.

“Do you think you could use it?”

He wasn’t sure about the draw weight on a weapon meant for Loki, even a teenaged one, but it looked the right size, a little under 70 inches long at rest, perfect for his draw length.

“Oo-ah-waa-wee.” (Probably.)

Loki hummed sceptically. Then he dug his thumbnail into the soft flesh on the underside of his tongue and _squeezed._ Clint jerked back with a cry – nearly tore the membrane – _bad idea, stupid_ _–_

“Probably?” asked Loki, entirely unimpressed. Clint squealed desperately, shaking with the effort of not flinching or biting his own tongue off for the pain.

“Yes! Yes, I meant yes!” he yelled, though it came out more or less like wordless wailing.

Loki seemed to get the gist, though, and finally let go. Clint immediately sucked his tongue back in, moaning with relief. Loki wiped his fingers daintily on the back of Clint's shirt.

"Good," he drawled, "then it’s yours."

Still reacquainting his tongue with the inside of his mouth, Clint started.

His voice was completely wrecked and he had to clear his sore throat several times to get the question out.  

“Wh- what?”

Loki raised an eyebrow. "Has the All-Speak suddenly failed? I thought gifts were customary to celebrate birthdays.”

Birthday? What was the-

 _Oh_. June eighteenth. _Holy shit_. It was his birthday.

With a legitimate excuse to accept, Clint’s confusion quickly gave way. His hands twitched in their bonds. He was literally bouncing with excitement.

“Can I-,” he licked his lips nervously, not wanting to jump the gun on whatever Loki had planned, but entirely too impatient to wait. “Please, Loki, can I- can I touch it?”

A casual flick of the fingers, and the ropes around Clint’s arms and legs vanished with a flare of golden light.

For a moment, his hands just hovered over the bow, too overcome with anticipation to finally have it in his hands. But then he grabbed it, cleaned his spit off the wood with his shirt, and groped it hungrily, smiling wider and wider every second. He ran his fingers over every inch of the smooth surface, mapping the ridges on the grip and arrow rest, following the soft arc to the tapered, recurving ends. Even the string was odd, made of some Asgardian thread that felt weirdly soft in his fingers when he gave an experimental _twang._  

“It’s- This is- I mean-” He gripped the bow tight in his hands. “No backsies!”

Loki just stared at him bemusedly. “Excuse me?”

“You are not allowed to ask for this back. You can ne- _ver_ take this back, you hear me? Because that would just be cruel and unusual and I would be sad and probably eat a whole bunch of pizza and then I’d be fat and you’d dump me and- and-” He took a deep breath to stem the tide. “I can keep it? For real?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “It’s a child’s toy, Clint. I would probably break it, not to mention it’s too small for me. I have no use of it. It’s yours.”

Clint beamed.

“I love it!” he exclaimed. “Dude, if all your toys are like this… When you clear out your attic, call me, ‘cos I mean…”

It was only when his words caught on a hiccup that Clint realised he was crying. Real, burning sobs bubbled up from his chest and through his swollen throat, even as he smiled himself into cramps. He wiped his face roughly. _God, man the fuck up_. _It’s like you’ve never gotten a birthday present before_.

Except… he hadn’t. Not like this. Not anything that hadn’t been snuck under his pillow in the middle of the night, wrapped in tissue paper, stolen or scavenged or outright robbed from the hands of some other child. He remembered Barney coming home one afternoon with a split lip and bruised knuckles, but grinning like the devil, treasure cupped carefully in his hands.

_Happy birthday, Clint._

He still had that little matchbox car. With the paint scuffed off the sides and someone else’s name in Sharpie scratched out with fingernails.

Barney had always tried his best. Done everything he could to stand between Clint and an unjust world, and then Clint had betrayed him, like the _ungrateful, self-righteous_ –

He wasn’t thinking about that. He was _not_ thinking about _that_. He was not going to ruin a perfect day with –

“Clint? Pet, what’s wrong?” Loki lowered himself down on one knee, brow furrowed in concern. He tried to lift Clint’s face, but the boy looked away, swiping at his eyes.

“Nothing,” he mumbled. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just… stupid. It’s- there’s- the grass, and the pollen…”

Loki watched him carefully. Gently, he traced along the curve of his jaw and down to linger over Clint’s neck. A reddish bruise was already blossoming under the tan skin, just below the Adam’s apple, in the shape of Loki’s thumb. Gold light danced at his fingertips as he pressed them softly over the mark. The colour began to fade before his eyes.

“No, don’t.” Clint pulled Loki’s wrist away before the bruise could heal entirely. “It’s not that.”

“Clint…”

Without warning, he threw his arms over Loki’s shoulders, hugging him tight.

“I’m not hurt,” he laughed between sniffles, “I’m _happy_ , you idiot.”

He felt Loki relax as he heard the smile in his voice. Reaching under his arms, Loki heaved the two of them up to their feet, then held Clint at arm’s length. He swept a calculating gaze over his face, his wet eyes, flushed lips… and pulled him into a kiss. Through hitching breaths, Clint kissed enthusiastically back. When they parted, he buried his face in Loki’s chest. The bow was clenched tightly in his right hand.

“Thank you,” he mumbled breathlessly into the silk shirt, “thank you, _thank you_ , thank you.”

Loki held him, rubbing his back as he pressed light kisses to his hair.

“Would you like to, how do you say it… take it for a test drive?”

Clint immediately peeled himself away and wiped his face on the hem of his shirt. His eyes were bright and wide.

A quiver full of arrows burst into existence and Clint strapped it quickly onto his back. Lifting the bow, he gave it an experimental tug to test the tension – it felt amazing. Then the demigod turned to face the line of trees and swept his arm over the expanse of rippling grass. From nowhere, spheres of swirling, glowing liquid rose from the grass into the air and ballooned to the size of volleyballs. Five, then ten, twenty, thirty, spaced randomly - a field of floating targets stretching to five hundred yards from where they stood. Clint gasped in wonder. Loki looked down at him.

“Well, archer,” he murmured, hardening his voice with a military air.

Clint leapt to attention, but couldn’t keep the huge, tetanus grin off his face.

“Yessir.”

“Ready.”

Clint reached back to slide an arrow from the quiver, and just that motion alone was enough to make his racing heart skip a gear. _Notch_. _Draw_. He could feel the neglected muscles in his back and shoulder straining deliciously as he brought his thumb to his jaw. _Aim_. He turned to Loki.

“Sir?”

The demigod’s grin slid into a smirk.

“Fire at will.”

 

 _Exhale_.

Clint felt his mind slowing down. Every extraneous thought bleeding out with his breath. His world shrank to the target, a blob of bright yellow, two hundred feet away.

The bow string snapped from his fingers. The arrow was thrown forward, flexing and spinning as it soared through the air.

The arrow struck the edge of the yellow sphere, tearing through the invisible skin and the thing peeled apart and burst like a water balloon. Paint splattered the grass underneath, then flashed gold and vanished. Behind him, Loki clapped daintily. Clint frowned. Plucking out another arrow, he rolled his shoulders and calmed his breathing.

 _Notch. Draw. Aim. In. Out. Release_.

This time, on a red target two hundred and fifty feet away, he hit dead centre. The ball _exploded_ , sending streaks of paint ten feet outward and upward with a deafening _POP_.

 

It was like gaining a sense. Like a lover’s embrace. Like _flying_.

 

Clint glanced over his shoulder to find Loki. The demigod was smiling, truly smiling, warm and happy and _proud_.

Spinning back round, Clint shot down another three targets in rapid succession, all bull’s eyes. Spurred on by his success and a burning need to show off, he pulled two arrows from the quiver, notched them both, and then aimed almost directly up into the sky and released both at once. They flew high in the air before slowing at their peak to carve a delicate arc underneath the clouds, and flew back down to strike the tops of separate targets, green and purple. Amidst Loki’s part-ironic, but mostly genuine applause, Clint turned and bowed deep with a flourish.

Then the demigod twirled his fingers and the targets started to move. Just in small circles to begin with, they were soon ducking and weaving between each other. Some stood still, only to dodge at the last moment, others split into smaller bubbles, while still others would suddenly dart directly at Clint’s face. The Amazing Hawkeye took them down, one after another. The quiver never emptied and Clint didn’t feel the fatigue of six month’s idleness wearing in his muscles as this elaborate game of fetch drew on. As the loyal pet, Clint played every trick in his arsenal to impress his master: firing two, three, then four arrows at once; and doing it all again while holding the bow behind his back; skipping the arrow off one target to hit another; and finally, using that one trick he’d learnt from the pretty contortionist – firing the bow with both feet while upside down in a handstand.

The last ball burst directly above Clint, having plummeted out of the sky toward him. Neon green paint rained down to splatter heavily over his head.

“Ugh- _fuck!_ ”

He hacked and spat a mouthful of paint, wiped it out of his eyes and shook it from his hair in fat, gloopy blobs.

“Oh, _now_ , it doesn't disappear after. Don’t think I can’t see what you’re doing!”

Loki was killing himself laughing. And it was hard, really, _really_ hard to stay angry with the littlest prince of Asgard when he was bent over, hands on his stomach, struggling to breathe. Soon, Clint was cracking up as well.

Actually, as long as this paint was still sticking around… Clint leapt into Loki’s arms, pressing his paint drenched shirt into Loki’s chest, burying slime green fingers in Loki’s long, black hair and mussing it up, thoroughly smearing his own hair all over Loki’s face and neck and shoulders until they both looked like extras from the _X-files_. And, in for a pound, Clint suckered Loki loudly and messily on the mouth. Loki ducked away immediately, spitting second hand paint.

“ _Pppfff…_ For the love of-”

“Nuh-uh, you did this, you wanted the paint-“

“Clint, get off me, or I will burn that damned-“

“Nope, mine now. You promised. Mine. Forever. Get your own.”

Finally, Loki grabbed his arms, hooked his ankle and fell backwards onto the ground, pulling Clint with him, then rolled over until the archer was pinned on his back underneath him.

With the destruction of the last glowing target, the darkness of the evening finally made itself known. The sun had long set, and now the yellow moon leered over them in a clear, black sky dotted with stars. The air, too, had chilled. Clint shivered in his thin cotton shirt, wet through and through, as he panted loudly between eruptions of giddy laughter.

Loki propped himself up on his arms and dragged Clint’s hands up to cross his wrists over his head the better to hold it with one hand while wiping the paint and slobber off his face with the other. He, too, was breathing heavily, eyes glittering as they stared down at his archer.

“So. Did you like your present?”

Clint didn’t think his face could smile any harder. “Do I get cake and candles, too?”

“Getting greedy, aren’t we?”

“No… it’s _customary_ ,” Clint explained. “Here, on Midgard, birthdays come with birthday cakes and birthday candles. I mean, c’mon, if you’re gonna do something, do it properly.”

A golden glow rose around them; the paint vanished. Loki cupped the side of Clint’s face and stroked a thumb back and forth over his now clean skin. The boy’s eyes fluttered closed, dark lashes brushing his flushed cheeks.

“Well… I shall endeavour to do better next time,” Loki promised, watching the rise and fall of Clint’s chest as his breathing grew slow and even, excitement giving way to a quiet, glowing calm.

The boy swallowed, tongue flicking slowly out over his lips.

“Yeah… You do that.” The words came slowly, thick and faint through the cocoon of his warm serenity.

Smiling, Loki’s eyes slid shut and he dipped down to press a soft, lingering kiss against the archer’s lips.

“Happy birthday, pet.”

His voice was soft and low, drawing Clint in and pulling him close until the world was just the two of them, there on the meadow beneath a blanket of stars.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, empty fields become meadows when you're feeling romantic. Duh.  
> They will be making with the happy times next chapter, coming soon. 
> 
> This is part of a wider AU in ma brain (and hopefully soon in writing) where Loki came to Earth about a decade before the Battle of Manhattan and met Clint when he'd just left the circus, having ratted out the Swordsman, and is running for his life. In this, Clint and Loki are already in an established D/s relationship. 
> 
> On ages: Clint is 19, Loki plays 24/5. Because - I needed Clint young enough to still be 'very young', but old enough not to be jail bait. Age of consent in NY is 17 (where I'm from it's 16) so 19 seemed non-scandalous. Loki and Thor, to me, act really rather childishly (murder and death aside) so I imagine Loki at his mid twenties in equivalent human maturity. 
> 
> And finally - if anyone has any notes for me on Marvel lore that I've gotten wrong, please lemme know, cos I basically googled what I needed XD 
> 
> Thanks for reading! and please let me know what you think~!


	2. Light the candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint asked for candles; Loki provides. Because what a birthday boy wants, a birthday boy gets. In substance, if not form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Please do not try any of what you are about to see at home. Activities depicted may result in scalding, sprained joints or irreversible, magical loss of eyesight. 
> 
> For the safety conscious - see end notes.

 

“You don’t _do_ anything with them, they’re just… _candles_.”

They were back in the Jag, Loki at the wheel and Clint, having been allowed on the leather this time around, sitting beside him. The bow had been wrapped up reverently in tissue paper and sent home ahead on the Teleporter Express, so with neither body nor deadly weapon in the trunk, the stars blurred away behind them as they sped into the city.

Cars and scenery alike smeared past in an angry cacophony of beeping and swerving. But Loki was all cool repose, one hand on the wheel, the other flicking casually through the gears. Clint would have been screaming road signs and traffic lights at him, except he was too busy busting a nerve trying to explain how birthdays worked.

“It’s just… _symbolic_ or something. You get one for every year you’re turning, and they- I dunno, they look pretty when you stick ‘em in the cake.”

“They’re _in_ the cake?” Loki arched an eyebrow and wrinkled his nose.  

“No, not- ew! They’re not baked _into_ the cake,” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Look, you have a cake-” He gestured round and chocolatey. “-and then you get your candles, and you _stick_ them–” He stabbed imaginary, stripy candles into the air. “- _on top_ ofthe cake. Comprende?”

Loki shifted down, tapped the brakes and dragged the wheel left, _cutting off a semi-trailer_ to beat the lights and fucking _drift_ into an exit off the main road. The truck’s deafening horn followed them accusingly down the street. Loki had to repeat his question.

“To what end?”

“To what…?” Clint flailed, because how do you explain _birthday candles_? “To… the end… that… you can blow them out when you make a wish, and then everyone can ask what you wished for, but you can’t say ‘cos otherwise it won’t come true, and thus joy is brought to children.”

Loki considered.

“So, it’s a spell.”

With a _thud_ , Clint bashed his head against the dashboard.

“Forget it,” he groaned. “Forget I said anything. Just. Let’s go kill a goat or rob a village or whatever you Vikings do.”

But Loki apparently could not take a hint. For the entire trip back, he drilled Clint endlessly for details. What kind of candle? How big? Does the wish come before or after blowing out the candles? What kind of cake? Does the cake have anything to do with the wishing? Do you eat the cake?

“Of course, you _eat the cake._ ”

Clint stared incredulously as Loki wedged them into an impossibly tight space along the kerb. Hopping out, he jumped and slid on his ass over the gleaming hood to land on the sidewalk.

“What else would you do with it?”

Leaving the car on the side of the tree-line street, they made their way to a red brick apartment building like every other red brick apartment building in Brooklyn. A midnight jogger nearly tripped staring at the blatant thief-bait just sitting there, screaming money, in a line of soccer mom SUVs and high-schooler second hand sedans.

“You apparently use candles for neither heat nor light, why should the cake not be _symbolic_ too?”

From the bottom of the steps, Loki simply waved the door open without any mention of keys. Clint sprinted past, bounding up three at a time to catch it before it swung shut again.

“The cake is not symbolic,” he corrected firmly, glaring Loki through the door as he held it open. “The cake is for eating.”

Loki threw a patronising glance over his shoulder. “If you insist, pet.”

*

Their apartment was on the fifth and highest floor, with windows facing the alley. Loki again forewent keys in favour of just turning the knob. The lock clicked open with a flare of light through the keyhole and gold threads fizzled out through the wood, disarming whatever magical home security Loki had installed. He refused to give details, though, and Clint almost wished they’d have a break in just to see what it did. He wouldn’t risk the pizza guy, but perhaps he could wedge the front door open and lure a Jehovah’s Witness upstairs.

Following Loki over the threshold, Clint turned on the lights (with the switch, like a normal human being) and kicked off his shoes, lining them up neatly against the wall. Then, two steps into the room, he sank smoothly to his knees at his master’s feet.

The floorboards were cold and hard through his jeans, but that had nothing to do with the shiver that went up his spine. Without waiting to be told, he bent over to unlace Loki’s shoes with quick, precise fingers. Then he pulled them off one by one, shuffling over on his knees to place them on the rack.

When he turned back around, Loki proffered his right hand in a lazy, expectant gesture. Clint crawled forward, brushed his lips over the knuckles, then flicked his tongue out to lick the centre of his palm. Loki hummed, eyes narrowing in that cat-like expression of contentment. Clint turned his wrist to find the silver cufflink and carefully unscrewed it before depositing it in Loki’s open palm. As he repeated the same procedure for Loki’s left hand, he wondered aloud –

“Do you even have cakes in space?”

“Baking isn’t unique to Midgard, pet. There are only so many ways to heat food.”

Clint hid a snicker. His nibs might have been playing it cool, but Clint knew better. That little cupcake store down the street with the Alice in Wonderland themed icing could probably thrive off Loki’s patronage alone. And while Clint religiously avoided fair grounds, Loki had more than once appeared in his living room plucking delicately at billowing pink clouds of cotton candy. If the guy hadn’t been a god, he’d be a dental drill’s wet dream.

“But I mean _cake_ ,” he pressed, moving onto the belt and cranking the buckle open. “Full on gooey chocolate mud cake. The kind that’ll give you a heart attack if you eat it too quick. Don’t tell me you got those in the land of mead and pheasant.”

“Assassination by pastry,” Loki considered as he neatly rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. “You really are an inspiration, pet. I should write this down.”

Clint slid the belt free, folded it once, then offered it up to Loki with both hands. The strap on this one was thin and soft; it would sting, but the marks would fade by morning. The buckle, though, would bruise fantastically. He looked up from under his lashes with big, puppy dog eyes, smiling suggestively, and wriggled coquettishly on his knees.

“Tempting,” Loki smirked, commending his pet’s initiative with a pat to the cheek. “But I have a better idea.”

The belt and cufflinks vanished. Clint pouted, though the look in Loki’s eyes and the mischievous curve to his lips was starting to make up for the disappointment. Ideas were good. Clint usually came out of Loki’s ideas covered in welts and gasping for breath, or biting his tongue off trying to keep quiet in public places with very thin walls. He straightened up, hands coming up to grip Loki’s trousers, eyes bright with anticipation.

Loki smiled indulgently. With a lazy ease, he stroked Clint’s hair and rubbed his ears, palmed the side of his face, ran fingertips up his neck to the tip of his chin… Clint kept waiting for an order, an iron grip around his neck or pulling his hair – but none came. Loki touched for the sake of touching, careful like his pet might break if he pressed too hard, and it was taking Clint apart faster than a belting could ever have done.

It should have been frightening, how quickly the world seemed to disappear around them, how easily Loki and his teasing, too soft caresses became the centre of his universe. Loki was being so good to him – had been, for so long – and Clint was seized by the need to prove that he deserved his lavish attentions, to show his master he was grateful, to be good, to _give._

Except Loki didn’t seem to _want_ anything. And it was driving him insane.

For long minutes, Loki played with him like a puppy until Clint was squirming with need. He was letting out a stream of tiny little mewling noises with every touch and trying to catch Loki’s fingers in his mouth. He’d forgotten he could speak, could stand, could do anything with his hands other than clutch desperately at Loki’s trousers. 

When he couldn’t take it any longer, Clint forced the issue. He pressed forward until his knees were hugging Loki’s feet and snuggled his face into Loki’s stomach. Long fingers carded through his hair indifferently. He pressed wet, open mouthed kisses into the silk, tongue flicking out between the buttons to taste skin. Loki was salty and sweet and warm, in contrast to the perpetual chill at his fingertips. Just above the waist of his trousers, Clint found Loki’s navel and dipped his greedy tongue into it. The plane of hard muscle underneath shivered, making Clint moan as he lapped and sucked hungrily, trying to get the same delicious reaction again.  

“Mmm…” Loki’s teasing fingers found the shell of his ear. “Good _boy…_ ”

Clint shivered and whined, pushing even closer to be flush against Loki’s legs. His hands were curled around the backs of Loki’s thighs, sweeping up and down, needing to touch, to be close. He nosed down past the waist and rubbed against Loki’s crotch. He needed to hear that harsh inhale, feel the tightening grip in his hair like he needed oxygen. Opening wide, he licked up the length of the zip with the flat of his tongue. Loki let out a sighing moan. His hand was heavy on the back of Clint’s neck, holding him close, and Clint’s head swam with the feeling. He rubbed one cheek then the other against the growing warmth in Loki’s groin, then decided to make out with the zipper some more. There was another rasping breath above him and Clint groaned in delight, panting, as Loki ground against his open mouth.

He had just caught the button between his teeth, intent on getting past the pesky, interloping cloth, when the hand in his hair curled painfully tight and dragged his head back.

“Ah… Lo- _ki_ …” he whined.

He was flushed pink, exhaling in little needy moans and salivating for the taste of Loki’s skin. His mind was a giddy fog of _want_.

Loki was not unaffected either. His pale skin was starting to warm along his razor blade cheek bones and his eyes, more black than green, were just a little too round, a little too bright. Letting go of Clint’s hair, he licked his lips.

“Strip.”

His voice was just rough enough to betray his arousal and it tingled like static through Clint’s skin. He could hardly move fast enough. Tearing his shirt forward over his head by the collar, he rocked back on the floor, doing an undulating hop with his hips to shove his jeans past his ass and off his feet, taking his socks with them. The clothes were hurriedly rearranged into a pile before he was back on his knees, hands clasped behind his back, eyes wide and eager.

“Go,” Loki nodded at the bedroom. “Lie down on your back. Spread your arms and legs.”

The small, clear-headed part of Clint’s brain bounced on its toes and clapped its hands. The rest of it just collapsed that much further down the scale from sentient being to thick, flailing mush.

He started to get up – then stopped when Loki pointedly cleared his throat. Ducking his head, he felt the blush rising from his neck. Then he pitched forward onto all fours (and he didn't know why, after everything else, _this_ still gave him pause) to crawl across the floor. He could feel Loki’s eyes on him the whole way there. And the idea of it – his master towering over him, still fully dressed, as he crawled beneath him on his hands and knees, ass in the air, to (what had better be) his own torture – it sent the blood from his already deficient brain directly to his groin.

Clint shivered as he lay his flushed skin over the cold sheets and arranged himself as ordered. Loki strolled casually to the foot of the bed, watching with darkening eyes and a wicked smile.

He twirled his fingers. Light flared around the bed; lengths of wide, satiny ribbon in bunny rabbit white slithered up the bedposts. They twirled themselves securely around the wood, then slid up onto the mattress to find each of Clint’s wrists and ankles. The ribbon slipped smoothly over his skin, looping around itself in a knot before straining tight.

Clint gasped.

The ribbons pulled his limbs apart, tighter, tighter, to spread him wide open for Loki’s feasting eyes. He started struggling on instinct, flexing the aching muscles in his arms and shoulders. But the bed was big enough that, eventually, he was stretched so taut he couldn’t bend his elbows or knees at all, thus robbed of the leverage he needed to really struggle. Once he was effectively drawn and quartered, the ribbon tails picked themselves up to dart around each other until they tightened into four plump, floppy bows at the inside of his wrists and over his ankles.

Clint arched one last time, drinking in the tension along his shoulders and hips, then fell back against the pillow. He was already breathing heavily, blood and heat pooling between his spread legs.

He watched with hooded eyes as Loki ran a teasing finger up the inside of his thigh, lifting up just short of the main event, then continued up, bumping past each of his straining ribs, making the muscles tremble and jump, rasping over the sensitive skin on the inside of his forearm to reach the pretty bow over his wrist.

Loki adjusted the knots so the ribbon would pass over his palms. It would give him something to grab hold of rather than strain the precious bones in his hands.

“Does it hurt?” he asked gently.

Because, bless him, he _did_ care.

Via thorough experimentation and one hairline fracture, the resident alien had learnt that humans, however much they might look and sound like Aesir, were basically jelly set over snowflakes. And though Clint fancied the sadistic bastard might enjoy the screaming if he did accidentally snap a wrist on the restraints, Clint knew that Loki would never actually let it happen. For one, he was far too covetous of Clint’s suffering to let a petty thing like Accident take all the glory.

Clint shook his head earnestly. The ribbon was wide and soft, hugging him even as it threatened to tear him limb from limb.

But as Loki did nothing more than stare down at him with that infuriating smile, fingertips trailing absently across his skin, still _standing_ like he might walk away any moment, Clint found he couldn’t stop twitching and straining.

He was tied up, he was willing, he was _desperate_ , what the hell was Loki waiting for?

Then Clint was struck by the horrifying thought that _this_ was Loki’s ‘idea’: to spread him out like so much warm butter and just watch as he melted into a pleading, trembling puddle of goo. A little ironic gift for having been so eager earlier. And Clint knew from experience the number of magical cheats Loki had for making him slowly lose his mind without laying a hand on him.

It wouldn’t be so bad, Clint supposed, as long as Loki stayed. Better if he still pet him like earlier. It was a good thing that Loki never seemed to tire of just touching him; whether it was about possession or just because he liked it, Clint soaked it all up like sunlight on a daffodil.

But _Christ,_ if he just left the room…

It must have shown on his face – in the whistling keen that escaped his throat or his wide, pleading eyes – because Loki was soon at his side, hip warm against his ribs, hushing him softly. He lay a palm over Clint’s chest, sliding up to where the heartbeat was strongest.

Clint sighed with relief, loving the weight of it over his heart, the way he could feel it with every breath.

His anxiety quickly faded. Eyes drifted closed. His chest rose and fell steadily with increasingly slower and deeper breaths as he sank into the warm, tingling embrace of surrender. Even his once urgent arousal seemed unimportant compared to the steady pressure over his heart and the voice murmuring nonsense in his ear.

 

 

 

 

 

The sting dripped like ice cold rain through the fog.

Clint inhaled sharply, breaking the surface of his reverie. Then the pain became real and he groaned softly at the feeling of nails clawing into his chest. Loki chuckled.

“Wake up, pet.”

Clint’s eyelashes fluttered. He didn’t even remember drifting off.

“’M not sleeping…” he slurred.

The room was dim, relying on the living room light seeping under the door, but Clint’s eyes were as black as if he were outside under a moonless sky. Only the barest rim of hazel was visible when he lifted his clouded gaze.

“Oh, good.” Loki tipped Clint’s head back into the pillow with a thumb under his jaw and leaned in close. “Because I have so _many_ ideas...”

And then he licked him hot and wet up the length of his neck, found Clint’s throbbing pulse and bit down around it, sucking the flesh into his mouth.

“Ah… _nghh_ …”

When he let go, a bright, red-speckled bruise framed in a round bite mark was already blooming. Loki lapped at the spot again, tasting blood under the surface, as Clint arched into it.  Being a chew toy wasn’t so bad, he pondered dreamily, while Loki sucked another hickey painfully close to the first.

On three, Loki let go with a slurp to admire the lovely traffic light configuration of round bruises up the left side of his neck, from the base to just below his jaw.

“Purple looks good on you,” he pointed out, and dug his finger into the newest mark.

Clint panted, turning his head away; whether to escape the pain or to give Loki more access, he wasn’t sure.

“I liked you with the blindfold, today,” Loki went on. Clint preened. “Did you like it, too, pet?”

Clint nodded. Loki reached down and pinched him hard on the inside of the thigh, making him cry out.

“Words, pet,” he admonished.

“Yes,” Clint moaned.

“Good boy.” Loki smoothed away the hurt, smiling down at down at him, and Clint melted just a little more. “I want you like that again, but I don’t want to hide those pretty eyes. Will you let me try something new?”

Clint wriggled, started nodding again, then caught himself. “Yeah. Yes. Anything.”

Loki pressed a kiss to his forehead. One hand was placed over Clint’s eyes, blocking out the room. The other was back over his sternum, fingers playing with the rise of his collarbone.

“Safeword?”

“Mockingbird,” Clint replied easily. He felt a kiss on the tip of his nose and giggled.

Gold light flooded his vision. It grew brighter and brighter, a pressure swelled behind his eyes, then all at once, it was gone. Clint’s lashes tickled Loki’s palm as he blinked rapidly.

“This is just a spell,” Loki explained. “If you don’t like it, we do something else. I can undo it  anytime you want and I won’t be angry or disappointed. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” A small, conscious part of him wondered at Loki’s suspiciously tender voice.

He felt Loki’s hand leave, but didn’t look. Loki cupped his face.

“Open your eyes, pet.”

So he did. Everything was still black, his retinas presumably bleached from the gold flash. He swivelled his eyes. Blinked furiously. Still black. He turned, towards what should have been the window, alight from the street lamps outside, but –

“L-loki?”

Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. He jerked, hands suddenly straining taut with fingers splayed, tossing his head and craning his neck.

“What- Loki, I can’t-”

The heart rate under Loki’s hand leapt into a panicked shrill. His breathing turned suddenly to gasps that he tried and failed to subdue. Clint whipped his head side to side, eyes growing wider and wider – but he couldn’t see a thing. There was so sliver of light, no shadows or hints of movement. He was blind.

(And if he was blind, he couldn’t shoot. If he couldn’t shoot, he was _nothing_. He was less than nothing. He was – )

It was a few moments before he realised Loki was speaking again, felt his warmth, cheek to cheek, nuzzling his ear. A tongue slid over his lips, dipping in just to taste his gasping breaths, all while that low, silky voice hushed and cooed against his mouth. Hands stroked his hair, rubbed up and down his body. In the absence of sight, Loki was flooding him with touch and scent and sound and taste. Over and over, between kisses and nuzzling and nipping at his lips, ears, nose, “I’m here, I’m still here. You’re safe. Say the word and it’s gone, pet. It’s not real. It’s just a spell. Just a silly parlour trick, that’s all.”

 _Just a spell._ Just Loki playing with him. Like the ropes, the duct tape, the gag. Just another way for him to hold Clint in the palm of his hand.

_Not real. Just a spell._

After letting his panic wear out for a minute or so, Loki kissed his eyes closed and held them down with a hand.

“No- Wait. It’s-” Clint tried to turn away. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Which might have sounded halfway believable – if he hadn’t been on the verge of hyperventilating.

“Shh… breathe, pet. Just breathe. Come on. In.”

So Clint took a deep breath through his nose and held it. It definitely felt better with his eyes closed.

“Out. Nice and slow, that’s a good boy.”

He pushed the air out past his lips in a long sigh. His fingers and toes still twitched from the adrenaline dump, but his full body trembling had stopped. His breathing grew even. The rigid muscles in his arms and shoulders relaxed; his fingers settled loosely around the ribbon over his palm.

Loki pulled his hand away from over his eyes again. This time, Clint knew what to expect. He blinked open and stared into the dark.

“Okay,” he rasped, then cleared his throat. “I’m okay. Sorry.”

“Hush, pet, you’ve nothing to apologise for,” Loki admonished. He couldn’t stop watching Clint’s blank, still too round eyes as they darted left and right, up and down, lingering near his face, but never quite catching. “You’re really alright, now?”

“Yeah. Yes,” he replied firmly. “I like it.”

Loki stole the end of his answer with a kiss, nibbling at Clint’s bottom lip as they parted.

“Is it because of your bow? Is this my payment? Would you have said ‘no’ otherwise?”

Frowning, Clint shook his head. “No! Loki, that’s not… I want this. I like it, Loki. I swear.”

“You’re lying,” Loki stated serenely. “You’re lying to make me happy, aren’t you?”

Clint shook his head, ready to defend his answer, but Loki licked the words out of his mouth.

“I don’t care,” he murmured dismissively. “You don’t know how gorgeous you are when you’re scared, pet. If I could, I would leave you like this. Like they keep birds at the palace. Would you like that, too?”

Clint shuddered. The blindfold had been all well and good, but this… Knowing that Loki wasn’t serious, he wanted to nod. He really did. He wanted to give in to the fantasy and just play along… 

“No,” he whimpered in defeat. “Loki, please, you wouldn’t…”

Unseen, Loki broke into a warm smile. He brushed his lips along Clint’s neck again, licking at his darkening bruises.

“I know, pet, I know… I’m only dreaming. Just a few hours, just tonight, can you do that?”

Clint nodded eagerly with relief. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Mmm… you’re being _so_ good, pet.” A hand slid down his chest, over his belly and then crawled slowly toward his groin. “Would you like a reward?”

The tension broke as Clint tried to hold back a grin. “Yes, _please_.”

By now, he’d slipped all the way up out of the warm fog and, after the struggle, he felt the pull of his restraints afresh. That and this newest layer of vulnerability was fanning the flames of his erstwhile fading arousal.

"Ah!"

He pulled suddenly taut against the bed posts, arching with a gasp as a warm, wet pressure run up the length of his cock. One more time, and then his mouth fell open in a breathless cry as he felt lips sliding down his length, burying him in heat, further and further, past the point where Clint would have started to gag and tear up.

“ _Mmm…”_

With his nose buried in Clint’s stomach, Loki moaned filthily, like he was sucking on one of his ridiculous swirly lollipops, and Clint nearly dislocated his ankles yanking on the ribbons. It made Loki chuckle, actually laugh with Clint still halfway down his throat, and then _swallow_.

“G-god, yes! Loki, yes, _yes_!”

After only a couple of minutes, he felt himself start to leak down the back of Loki’s throat. And Loki must have tasted it, because he hollowed his cheeks and _sucked_ as he pulled off with an obscene pop. Clint could have killed to see Loki’s face, because he could _hear_ him licking his lips. Then cold fingers – always so goddamn _cold_ – wrapped themselves hard around him and pumped rapidly up and down, slick with saliva.  

“Loki, _Loki_ , please- Please, can I- I have to- _nngghh!_ ”  

“Oh, wait,” Loki cut in, like he’d forgotten to add the sugar. His hand stopped, then disappeared all together. “How foolish of me. I’m getting ahead of myself.”

Clint wanted to break things. Preferably Loki’s nose, if that was even possible. But more than anything he wanted back in Loki’s mouth, his hand, fuck, he’d take whatever he got just if the fucker could only finish what he fucking started,was that so much to ask!?

“I have a surprise for you,” the teasing jerk continued lightly, like Clint wasn’t shaking and panting, banging his head back against the pillow like he might knock the blood back into it against the gravity of his arousal.

He didn’t even bother trying to beg. Loki was on script now; his only option was to play along.

(Clint wouldn't remember until much later that the panic of losing his sight had completely disappeared.)

“What… what kind of surprise?”

“Well, I realised that you were right earlier, about your birthday,” Loki ran the pad of his thumb ever so lightly over the tip his straining, leaking cock, and Clint actually fucking _bleated_ like a lamb – then drew back and _flicked_ it with his forefinger. Clint yelped, biting down on his bottom lip too late to catch it, because that _hurt,_ goddamn _asshole_. “I am in your world, after all, and when in Rome… et cetera. And it appears I’ve been awfully remiss.”

The bed dipped around him. Loki had climbed up to straddle Clint’s hips. The cloth of his slacks chafed against Clint’s feverish skin as he settled, and Clint was reminded that Loki was still _dressed_ , after all that. Still breathing normally. Still as coherent as he ever was while Clint had been reduced to a sweating, burning puddle of need.

“Now… what was it you said I was missing?”

Clint took about ten full seconds to grab his brain by the shoulders and shake the memory violently out of the mush. The sooner he answered, the sooner Loki got on with it.

“Candles,” he found at last, triumphant. “And cake.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki agreed sagely. “We’ll start with  _candles_.”

Clint heard the _click_ of Loki’s snapping fingers, a tiny, hissing  _pop_. Warmth flared over his abdomen –

And then  _boiling hot wax_  was dripped into his navel.

It hurt like nothing else. No impact, no sting, no _heat_. Just a blinding white flash of clear sensation that stole his breath away.

A second later, Clint  _howled_. One short, gasping note that had him arching off the mattress, every limb taut against their bonds.

It was only as the wax began to cool that Clint felt the heat and recognised what it had been. The whine escaped his throat unbidden as he panted through the shock and lingering burn. It was only one drop, but he was already twisting against the ribbons. He felt Loki’s hand sliding over his belly to feel the muscles in fluttering under his skin.

“Little stripy ones, about this big,” Loki explained, and Clint realised hatefully that he was being quoted back to himself. All those questions in the car, the whole trip back, the bastard had been planning _this_. “Did I get it right, pet? How does it feel?”

He felt the flame draw closer again –

Another drop, right over the last, in the centre of his navel.

Clint twitched, both arms and legs yanking hard against the bed, and cried out brokenly. As the wax cooled, he squeezed his eyes shut, out of habit, and tried to steady his breathing through his nose. It had only been two drops for fuck’s sake. And no one ever died from hot wax. His skin wasn’t really burning off, Loki wasn’t really stabbing him with a needle dipped in acid, it only _felt_ that way.

But it was never going to work. His heart raced and small, breathy whimpers escaped even as he bit his lip to stifle them. His hands and feet flinched without his volition. Because the realisation had dawned, that if Loki remembered those tiny details about the _type_ of candle, then surely he also remembered…  

“But of course, the _number_ of candles is also significant. _Symbolic_ , is it not, pet?”

Another drop, then another at each word for emphasis, still over the exact same spot.

The first bright burst was pure,  _breathtaking_ agony, amplified tenfold by repetition. Clint was rendered momentarily mute. His mouth hung agape, every muscle in spasm, eyes empty and wide and black. As it faded to a slow flare of heat, his senses returned.

"J-jesus  _Christ_  of mother _fucking_  Nazareth! That  _hurts!"_

From under the wax, a bright pink flush was spreading out over his stomach. Loki brushed his fingertips over the skin, drawing a nervous twitch, and then  _dragged_  his nails through it.

“Nn _ngh_ …  _Ah_! God,  _Loki..._ ”

“I had no idea you were so religious, pet,” he observed placidly. His voice belied his own racing heart as the heat pooled rich and cloying inside him, hotter and hotter with each one of Clint’s moaning breaths.

He tipped the candle and there, again, over that same postage stamp patch of hypersensitised nerves, the wax dripped down.

Clint  _screamed._

Long and loud, like his throat might burst, until he broke off to harsh, quivering sobs. The ladder of his ribs strained visibly through the skin as he gulped air for dear life.

“P-please,” he gasped. He could feel the burn in his eyes and thick at the back of his throat, Adam’s apple bobbing with hitching breaths. “Please, it hurts, Loki, it  _hurts, please-_ ”

“Now, what was the rule?” Loki mused, ignoring him. “Ah, yes… One –” _drip_ “– for every –“ _drip_ “– Year.” _Drip._  

Clint’s mind went entirely blank. He convulsed with every new eruption of pain at Loki’s cruel hand, stomach cramping with the strain of at once trying to curl up and being stretched taut by his trembling limbs.

As he finally came back up, whining and squealing wordlessly  through the last throbbing flare of heat, he cursed himself for ever having opened his stupid mouth about stupid goddamn candles.

“Remind me, pet, because I want to do this  _properly_ ,” Loki breathed silkily against his ear, feigning sincerity, even as Clint heard the smug leer in his voice. “How many does that make for you?”

Trembling all over, he could only manage a pathetic whimper. So Loki painted a dotted line up from his navel to the hollow of his chest. With every drop, Clint flinched and shook, the scream bubbling up inside his throat until finally, he burst out yelling –

“ _Nineteen!_  Nineteen, f-fuck _,_ please. I’m sorry. God, Loki, p-please, I  _can’t_ – ”

Because suddenly it wasn’t just the wax that burned, but the promise of _eighteen more candles_ to come, and (what had Loki said? Just for a few hours) _hours_ of this torture that sent a terrified wave of heat through his gut and robbed the air from the lungs. 

Ever merciful, Loki heeded Clint’s prayers and moved away from his navel. Instead, he painted a lazy, meandering trail up the inside of his right thigh. He was careful to go slow enough that the line was continuous all the way through.

Clint buckled as he screamed and swore and begged.

Halfway through, he clamped his jaws shut, trying to hold it in. Tears rolled out of the corner of his eyes and the stream of aborted shrieks and sobs catching in his throat sang hot and sweet in Loki's veins. It was all so  _cute_. He  _had_  to stop and watch, holding the candle still, perilously close to his groin, until Clint gave in with a rush of blubbering pleas.

Which Loki categorically ignored. A particularly loud cry as the line crept closer and closer to Clint's still hard cock found him suddenly muzzled by Loki’s hand over his mouth, while he completed the line up his thigh, and then went back to fill in the imperfections. Clint struggled all the while, writhing and arching as he tried desperately, fruitlessly to escape.

When the little candle had melted down to a stub, Loki relented.

Clint remained tense, though, blind to what Loki was doing. Unable to anticipate where or when he would burn next had Clint flinching constantly, every small movement or breath of sensation over his skin enough to drive him almost to hyperventilation.

At length, Clint felt the heat by his lips.

“Blow.”

Because of course, by custom, the birthday boy had to do it. Clint sucked in a shaking lungful and blew out the flame.

“Good boy,” Loki purred.

Clint exhaled in a groaning rush of relief, sinking into the sheets. He felt Loki lean across him, then the tip of a tongue flicked out over his eyes as Loki licked away fat tears, relishing in the salty taste of his agony. When he tried to turn away, a hand came up to hold him still,his touch freezing against Clint’s burning  skin; cheeks flushed, lips bitten and bruised.

“How many was that, pet?” Loki asked.

Clint let out a distressed moan. His knuckles turned white as he clenched in a spasm around the ribbon that bound him.

“One," he whimpered.

Out of _nineteen._ God _,_ if Loki expected him to count them… He wouldn’t make it past three at this rate. And what if he lost count? Would Loki punish him? Make him start all over again?

Just the thought forced another high pitched, broken whine through Clint’s throat. Wide, sightless eyes darted around the room, brimming with fresh tears in mere anticipation of torment.

Loki hummed gleefully. He smoothed a hand over Clint’s chest, up to his shoulder, then down, over the jutting bone of his hip, along his painted thigh and past the hollow inside his knee. It should have been comforting, perhaps, but Clint only shook harder. The message was more than clear: so much skin and such tiny candles… what _ever_ shall I do?

The demigod closed his fist, gold light seeped out through his fingers, and another stripy birthday candle, red and white like a candy cane, appeared in his hand. Not that Clint would be able to appreciate it, but Loki was a perfectionist. This might just have been some of his best work.

He snapped his fingers.

 _Click._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Safety notes for the worried/nerdy... as far as the internet can tell me:  
> \- standing paraffin candles melt above ~54.4 C / 130 F  
> Source: http://www.candlescience.com/wax/paraffin-wax  
> \- at 55 C/131 F, up to 20 s continued exposure caused no permanent injury  
> Source: http://goo.gl/Hg3Quy (Moritz & Henriques, 1947) p 16
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hoped you liked it! Better still if you didn't, [tellll meeeeeee] so I can do better :)


	3. Cut the cake (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Please see previous for notes on wax. And remember kids - never play with matches without an adult present. But when the adult gets there, maybe don't explain what you need the matches for; they might get worried.

Loki took his time. With an artist’s patience, he drizzled burning flourishes across a trembling canvas. The bright colours, with their white barber’s pole stripes, melted into a rainbow of pastels.

Hidden, the soft skin of Clint’s stomach and thighs were pink and raw under a sheen of sweat, stinging at even the barest graze of Loki’s fingertips and screaming when painted with wax. His breath came in harsh, sobbing gasps. Blind eyes rolled under hooded lids. The ribbons stayed tight and unyielding around his wrists and ankles as he struggled. 

With every touch – wax on his blistered thigh, enough to make him scream, lingering, drop after drop after drop – Loki’s hand on his cheek, soft lips over his eyelids – nails drawing blood across his chest – whispered praise against his skin, he was being good, so good… the tide lapped at his body, washing over him in wave after churning wave of agony and desire. Clint was sinking, drowning, and Loki was holding him under. Telling him to breathe.  

…It was _wonderful_.

 

By the time he lost count, Clint had forgotten how to lie.

“How many?”

He opened his mouth but nothing came out. Nothing came to mind. Not a single digit. His hands tightened around the ribbon over his palms as he swallowed nervously. He couldn’t even summon the will to guess.

A cold touch settled on his stomach and trailed lower until he felt each of Loki’s fingers settle around his balls. A tendril of fear curled through him and he pushed out a whimper, shaking his head. His eyes roamed the dark for Loki’s voice.

“Oh, _pet_ …” Loki smoothed his other hand over Clint’s hair, cupping his cheek to let him turn into it and hide his face. Then he suddenly _clenched_ his fist and Clint choked on a cry as pain burst hot and bright between his legs to shoot up through his abdomen.

“Shall I remind you?” he offered kindly.

“Yes,” he gasped, shaking as Loki’s grip only tightened. “ _Please,_ Loki, pl–”

 _Click_.

And then he broke off, eyes and mouth agape, as a single drop of wax (baby blue) spattered onto the base of his cock. He sucked in a breath, only to have the scream die on his tongue as Loki let go of his balls to clap a hand over his mouth and nose.

“Hush,” Loki coaxed, over the muted squealing, “or we’ll wake the neighbours.”

Clint tried his best to nod. Still, it wasn’t until the aborted scream started burning in his lungs, ribcage fluttering uselessly, hands and feet twitching against the ribbons, that Loki finally let him breathe. But for reasons that were soon to become all too obvious, he kept his hand over the boy’s mouth.

As Clint moaned with gratitude, Loki kissed him fondly on the bridge of his nose.

“That’s one.”

Then another drop landed just lower than the first (and if Clint had any kind of higher cognition left he would have seen the pattern, would have fought harder, screamed louder) tearing a hoarse yelp out of him before Loki pinched his nose shut –

“And two.”

One gasp, in and out, and then Clint jerked violently, arms straining as if he had the slightest chance, back arching, as –

“Three. Are you following, pet?”

Another breath, panting, tossing his head to the side, trying to escape Loki’s smothering hand, to get a word out –

“Four.”

He convulsed like he was being shocked, stomach trembling with effort, tears and sweat wetting the pillow –

“Five.”

It can’t have been that long, can it? Five seemed reasonable. It had to be over soon, it had to be –

“Six.”

He managed to cough out a sob, but Loki just pressed harder, forcing his head back–

“Seven.”

It was too much, he couldn’t breathe, it hurt _so much_ , _please_ –

“Eight.”

His lungs were going to burst, his skin was on fire _–_

“Nine.”

 _Loki, please, Loki_ –

“Ten.”

Finally, on the end of his cock, right over the slit, Loki held the candle low and blew sharply across the flame. It flared spectacularly, sucking air with a squeaking _hiss;_ an inch and a half of candle liquefied in an instant. Loki suffocated him on the exhale and held steady as hot wax splashed onto him.

“Eleven.”

Clint’s eyes rolled back.

The tide washed over his face and dragged him under, filling him up, through his mouth and nose, through the fire in his lungs and between his legs, through Loki’s voice in his ear, squeezing him from every direction, until it threatened to tear him apart, until…

“ _Come_.”

His eyes snapped open, lungs heaved against nothing, hips stuttered –

– and he _came_ in a wash of blind, breathless, agonizing bliss.

 

The stars faded just as the ribbons pulled themselves away. In a ripple of chill over his feverish skin, all the wax that had been painted over him disappeared. Gentle hands and then a warm tongue mapped the burns.

Clint floated somewhere above it all in warm seas. The tide swelled gently and he blinked lazily up at the dappled mirror of the surface.

He felt the barest tickle of heat by his lips. Blew it out at Loki’s prompting.

“How many, pet?” he asked again, soft like the marshmallows in Clint’s bones, warm and smiling.

“Mmm… ‘lev’n…”

A low chuckle rumbled through his sternum from Loki’s lips. A wet swipe through the hollow of his chest and up to suck at the dip between his collarbones, then up, up over his throat, his chin, until Clint felt his lips part for Loki’s tongue. His hands were free, but his fingers barely twitched. Unless Loki told him to move, Clint didn’t want to do a single thing ever again.

He was soft dough as Loki turned him over onto his stomach. The sheets were rough against his tender skin, but he was soon coaxed onto his knees. His arms were pulled behind him and bound together from elbow to wrist. Suspended from the ceiling, they were drawn steadily up, taking his weight, until his shoulders were just higher than his hips. Loki manoeuvred him around ninety degrees so he was east-west across the bed. Then he felt the familiar slide of satin around his knees and ankles as the ribbons found their marks and pulled his legs open.

Clint had time to get comfortable, appreciating the strain on his shoulders, the fact that if Loki left him here he’d be begging within the hour, before Loki grabbed his hips and _pushed_ in.

Clint’s mouth fell open and he buckled, toes curling, thighs trembling.

He wasn’t anywhere near ready, but Loki was slick and warm. And _insistent._ A low whine started in his chest, crawling up his throat and rising to a pleading keen. He couldn’t help clenching every time Loki moved, especially when friction was overtaken by the slow, penetrating ache of blunt pressure inside him.

“Am I hurting you?” Loki asked.

Even through the flood of sensation, Clint thrilled at the breathlessness in his voice.

He moaned the affirmative. Then fingers dug into his bones, and it turned into a howl, pain flaring inside him, deep and sharp, as Loki jerked suddenly forward. Clint arched, yanking on his shoulders. But he was already at the literal end of his rope, having bowed forward as far as his bound legs and arms would allow, and now there was nowhere to go and nothing to do but take what was given.

“Answer me,” the prince demanded. He gripped him tight again and dragged back just enough to threaten, to make Clint weak at the thought of it and clench reflexively, which of course didn’t help at all.

“Yes!” he gasped. Sweat was dripping off his neck and the backs of his thighs. Every word was a struggle through his addled brain, past his quivering diaphragm. “It h..urts, Loki, s-so much, pl…ease… d-don’t–”

“Don’t what?” Loki asked innocently, and then _shoved_ himself in to the hilt.

The waters surged with a heady torrent of breathtaking fear and ravenous delight, deeper and darker with every inch his body was forced to yield for Loki’s pleasure.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after twelve thousand words, someone finally gets to come, Christ that took a while [Applause, Flowers]. Thank you dear subs for your patience, and apologies for the two month tease and short chapter. Part 2 finale in a week or so, cross my heart. 
> 
> Please lemme know what you thought! This was my first test run at flailing around in subspace without actually using the word, so if it sucks, guys, please tell me, be honest.


	4. Cut the Cake (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Loki is a bastard. You know this. ... and seriously, Don't Try This At Home. Except for the last part. That bit I actively encourage. 
> 
> Literally just finished writing - will proofread at some later point ^^v Very sorry for any grammar fail.

After nearly blacking out, Clint took over twenty minutes to get hard again. Loki patiently fucked him through it.

When the shouting grew prohibitively loud (there was, the demigod had learned, no good way for neighbours to hear bloody murder through the walls punctuated by ‘please, god, mercy’), Clint was fed a washcloth to soak up the noise. It weighed heavy and dry on his tongue, filling his mouth and pressing just enough at the back of his throat to tickle his gag reflex when he swallowed or cried.

He tried _once_ to cough it out. Loki offered helpfully to ‘take his mind off it’ – and then six candles later, asked if he still wanted it removed.

Fingers digging into his palms, Clint shook his head with everything he had. Didn’t stop until Loki laughed, “Clever boy,” breathlessly into his shoulder and patted him on the thigh.

His throat swelled with tears. The heat alone would have been enough, but Loki was cruel and greedy. A continual stream of dripping wax made it impossible to relax, and he found himself helplessly tightening in fits and starts around Loki’s already too thick intrusion while he continued to pound in and out of him, studiously ignoring his prostate, moaning and gasping as he let Clint’s sore, overstretched muscles milk him dry.

Once Loki was at last assured that Clint would not be walking or sitting for the foreseeable future (at least, in retrospect, Clint assumed this had been the goal), he dragged himself out with a happy, sated sigh. When Clint realised that he was no longer in danger of being impaled, the relief was almost as great as the loss. Loki let the boy catch his breath, rubbed his back, tugged on his cock a few times, and doodled _happy birthday_ over his ass in mint green wax. Finally, he pulled out the gag for Clint to extinguish the candle and slur out a number – “Seventeen.” Loki kissed the small of his back in reward.

“Have you had enough, pet?” he asked gently. “Do you want me to stop?”

Clint resolutely shook his head.

“You want me to keep going?”

He nodded. Then obediently opened his mouth for Loki to stuff the gag back inside. A kiss to his bound arms. Hands sweeping over his ribs, stomach, then down his thighs. Clint glowed under the warmth of Loki’s silent approval. Then he heard the _click_ of snapping fingers and the telltale hissing _pop_ of flame being conjured into existence. His muted whimper was barely audible through the cloth.

“Where do you want it, pet?”

Clint only shivered in response.

He could feel the heat of the candle floating over him, drifting from his shoulder blades down the curve of his arched back, over his hips, and then bright, stinging pain on the backs of his thighs and over his calves. When it started to pool inside the arch of his soles, Clint let out an incredulous squeal as the pain shot up his leg and hummed through his entire body.

And then, impossibly, it got worse.

As the wax crawled back up his thigh, Clint felt a hand slide down his back and over the curve of his ass. A finger rubbed at his red and swollen ring of muscle, loose from the demigod’s prodigious efforts, then pressed the pad of his thumb where Clint was still wet with lube and come. Despite his whistling keen, the end popped in easily and after that, Clint’s nervous contractions swallowed the first knuckle.

Loki leaned in, licked Clint’s ear, and then hooked his thumb just inside the rim, pulling him open, before asking, “How about here?”

Clint’s eyes snapped wide.

He started to shake his head, trying to speak but the gag was too big, keeping his tongue down and his mouth agape. White hot terror thrummed inside him.

“ _Uhhngh…_ ”

“What’s that, pet?” Loki pulled harder, stretching him wide, while drizzling wax over the small of his back. “I can’t hear you.”

Clint flinched terribly. Rocked from side to side, clenching and unclenching his hands. The muscles in his thighs shivered and jumped uncontrollably.

“ _Ngh!_ _Ngh, uhhnngh–_ ”

He coughed as the gag was yanked out, then squealed when the wax dripped down over his tailbone.

“Come again?”

“No. No, p-please,” he begged, the words tripping over themselves, catching on his wet sobs. “God, please, not- not there. Please. C-can’t. Loki, please. Don’t. _Please._ Loki – ”

Pain _lanced_ through him.

Clint threw himself forwards, forgetting his shoulders, his wrists, as the wax dripped directly _inside_ his raw, fluttering hole. The shockwave crashed through his entire body. Air was knocked from his lungs. He couldn’t make a sound. Every muscle was taut to snapping. He thrashed and _convulsed_ as if struck by electricity.

Loki put his alien strength to good use resisting the desperate attempts of Clint’s body to clench shut and protect itself, prying him open while he let the wax fall.

Then Clint screamed. Loki didn’t bother with the gag, just wished the candle away, squeezed Clint’s throat with a flash of magic and suddenly, Clint was mute. Though his lips moved and his diaphragm heaved, nothing came out but tiny, mewling whimpers. Satisfied, Loki summoned his candle back and carried merrily on where he’d left off. Clint seized up, thrashing frantically against the ribbons, and silently screamed himself hoarse.

Only when the candle had melted down to a stub did Loki pull it away, shoving three fingers in immediately after, and put his nails into Clint’s prostate. 

" _Come_." 

Clint buckled so hard he nearly tore his shoulders out of their sockets, came, and blacked out.

 

A few seconds later, Clint woke to the heat of a candle by his lips.

“Blow.”

He managed a weak, shaking puff of air. It seemed to be enough.

“Eighteen,” said Loki. The mattress dipped by Clint’s shoulders as Loki sat down on the edge. “One to go.”

Clint burst into tears. Sobbing incomprehensibly, tossing his head, making tiny little noises in his muted throat and growing more and more distressed with the realisation.

Loki held his face and cleaned him up, brushing the tears from his cheeks and the drool off his chin while keeping up a constant stream of _good boy_ and _beautiful_ and _perfect._ Kissed his eyes, rubbed his shoulders and arms.

Reaching under Clint, he wiped the come off the sheets and had the boy lick it from his hand. Clint rushed to obey. Swallowing sobs, he strained for Loki’s hand, which the demigod teased against his lips before pulling back, just far enough out of reach to make him crane his neck. Loki watched, mesmerised, the pink tongue darting out between his fingers and over his palm. Watched the boy whose pleas he had so callously ignored and in whose suffering he so delighted, desperately eager to please him.

“Gods, Clint…” he sighed, running a hand through his pet’s hair, “if you had any idea…”

Once Clint had finished, his breathing had also calmed. The piteous weeping, at least, had ebbed. Loki pulled his hand away, laughing when Clint tried to follow, tongue wiggling in the air.

_Click. Hisss-pop._

Clint shivered. Only one candle left. But Loki still made him wait. Cleaning the slate again with a wave of his hand, he rubbed the newly bared skin and dragged his nails through the burns. Tickled the hypersensitised soles of Clint’s feet. Played with his cock. Fucked him with his fingers – one, two, then four all at once – just to make him cry again. It burnt like Loki was fucking him dry with a baseball bat. But he was too tired, too weak to really struggle anymore. Could only hang from his wrists and let it happen. The fact that his voice was trapped, in addition to his blindness, made it all so much worse. It wasn’t long before tears were trickling off the tip of his nose again.

Finally, Loki squeezed his limp cock and chuckled.

“Poor pet. Are you done?”

Clint nodded viciously. He couldn’t get it up on a boxful of Viagra. Wax splashed onto the sole of his right foot.

“Out loud,” Loki ordered. “Don’t be rude.”

The reprimand sent a ripple of fear tingling over Clint’s skin. More than the wax, more than being fucked to within an inch of his life – with just a few words, Loki’s disapproval pushed him right to the edge of a very thin line.

So Clint tried again. But the spell was still there, turning his words into feeble kitten noises. Forcing him to disobey.

More wax, on the same foot, and Clint was bawling now, begging with every inch of his body, chest heaving, but all Loki could hear was his heavy breathing, sobs caught in the spell.

“Come on, try again, pet. It’s not that hard.”

Clint tried and tried. But Loki never lifted the spell. Just punished him with more wax every time he failed. He was flushed red with humiliation, flinching and twisting pitifully, hurting himself on the ribbons.

Eventually, Loki declared it a lost cause and stood up to push his cock down Clint’s throat.

The boy moaned in relief. Closing his eyes, he forced all of his brain power into his throat and tongue, swallowing when Loki told him to, breathing only when Loki let him. Working as hard as he could for every gasp, every single word of praise, because this right here, he didn’t need to be able to speak to get right, to obey, to please his master.

A few minutes later, Loki came with a rush of garbled Asgardian that didn’t translate and Clint swallowed like his life depended on it.

Loki stayed still for while, nestled in that warm, wet mouth to let Clint milk him dry – and then just to indulge his pet’s oral fixation (which, privately, Loki may or may not have been fostering) as he licked and sucked aimlessly with dazed contentment.

He moaned weakly when Loki finally pulled out, trying a few times to get him back before a hand in his hair yanked him away.

“You want more, pet?” Loki teased. “Did you like it that much?”

Clint risked a smile and started to nod – but was cut off, head snapping left as Loki slapped him in the face. Warm, sparkling pain blossomed across his jaw.

“Haven't we learnt anything? Out _loud_ , pet.”

Stunned, Clint opened his mouth. And then the slap, the burns on feet, the pain in his throat all thrummed inside him and he immediately gave up. Racked with sobs, lips pressed firmly together, he shook his head jerkily side to side. If he didn’t try it, he couldn’t fail, and Loki wouldn’t punish him. The logic of which was so weak, even Clint didn’t buy it. When Loki reached for him again, he flinched, expecting to be hit, and hunched his shoulders as much as he could, hanging his head low.

 _Sorry_ , he blurted, but of course nothing came out, and that only made him cry harder. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair!_ He wanted to speak, he wanted to be _good_ , but Loki wasn’t letting him.

At last, the prince took pity and stopped his little game. Crouching down, Loki pulled Clint’s face up, holding him firmly by the jaw, and tried to kiss him. Clint shied angrily away, ducking his head. His eyes were red as they glared blankly into the distance.

“Aww, pet…” Loki cooed. “Hush… That was mean of me. I’m sorry.”

Clint tried to flinch away, but Loki caught him again. He softened his grip when Clint stopped trying to get away, instead wiping the tear tracks off his cheeks and brushing the hair from his eyes.  

“Sh… No more of that, I promise. I swear.” He cupped Clint’s face tenderly between his palms. “You’ve done _so_ well, pet… I won’t do that again. Do you forgive me?”

Clint hitched a sob and then dove forward to bury his head in Loki’s shoulder, keening and mewling as the tears ran their course. Loki petted his hair all the while, hushing him and supporting his torso to take the pressure off his shoulders and hanging arms.

Eventually, face still hidden in Loki’s neck, Clint nodded.

“Alright. Last candle. Do you want me to stop?”

He shook his head.

“You’re sure?”

Nodding again.

“It’ll hurt,” Loki warned.

More nodding.

Loki leaned back and kissed him, slow and soft. Clint didn’t have the energy to do much more than part his lips, but he lay rapturously on the seabed as the warm current washed over him, basking in the sunlight of Loki’s favour.

When Loki stood up, Clint braced himself for the _click_. But then the ribbon that hung his wrists grew, letting him down slowly while the ribbon around his ankles and knees undid itself. He collapsed onto the mattress in a slow sprawl. Had he had his voice, the groan when his arms were lowered would have been nearly orgasmic. Loki seemed to catch it anyway, laughing softly as he manually untied the ribbon around Clint’s arms to lay him out flat. He carefully rubbed the blood back into Clint’s hands, and then massaged his stiff shoulders. Meanwhile, Clint soaked slowly into the bed springs from bliss.

When he was just about one with the mattress, Clint felt something being fed under his neck and around. He smiled lazily when he recognised the familiar suede back on his collar as Loki pulled it tight and buckled it in. A metallic _clink_ signalled the leash being attached.

Loki stepped back to admire the view, then yanked on the leash.

“On the floor, pet.”

With all the grace of a grounded octopus, Clint dragged himself towards Loki’s voice, feeling for the edge, and slid onto the floor. Another tug, sharper, upwards, got him reluctantly on his hands and knees.

“Heel,” Loki called, with no small amount of schadenfreude, and walked away. Clint was dragged along with him, crawling on lead limbs.

 

The carpet changed to floorboards as they left the bedroom. Muscle memory told Clint, when they stopped, that they were in the dining room.

“Sit.”

Clint sat back on his knees while Loki pulled up a chair. Tugging on the leash a little more, he made Clint shuffle forward a few more inches before ‘sitting’ again between his knees. Then felt his head being tilted back, a hand wrapped around his throat, and Loki was kissing him again. Eyelashes fluttering, Clint moaned into Loki’s mouth. Whatever wall had trapped Clint’s voice had fallen away.

“Do you trust me?” Loki asked when they parted.

Clint licked his lips, “Yes.” _Finally_.

“All together,” Loki coaxed.

Clint quirked a smile, leaning into Loki’s hand on his jaw. “Yes, Loki. I trust you.”

 _Click. Hisss-pop_.

Heat appeared in front of Clint, very close to his face. The candle must have gone out during all their speech therapy.

Loki waited, letting the anticipation build, then stroked his cheek and ran a finger over his lips.

“Say ‘ah’…”

Clint’s hooded eyes widened slowly as he parted his lips. His brain wasn’t completely in working order, but somewhere in the mix, he recognised vaguely that Loki wouldn’t have decamped all the way to the dining room for something as bourgeois as a blow job. But Clint didn’t think he could handle wax on his tongue…

Loki tugged on his leash encouragingly and slid a thumb between his lips.

“Come, pet, be a good boy. Tongue out.”

Clint was fairly certain Loki wouldn’t actually make him swallow a lit candle. Or use him for a candle holder. At least, not on his birthday.

_I trust you._

He stuck out his tongue. Closed his eyes. Held his breath –

 

– and then let it out in a huge huff of relief, crumpling completely, when it was a finger, just Loki’s finger, that pushed onto his tongue. But it was coated with something sweet and – was that chocolate!?

Clint wrapped his tongue around Loki’s finger and sucked at the treat. It was smooth and creamy and just a little sandy…

It was _icing_. _Cake_ icing. Clint hummed pornographically.

With a _pop_ , Loki slipped his finger out. Then laughed when he saw Clint had already opened his mouth again, tongue hanging out, obviously grinning behind it. So Loki obliged, with two fingers this time. Clint lapped at them giddily.

Loki kept going, feeding him icing and then graduating to the occasional crumb until slowly, slowly, Clint began to surface.

Soon, he was far enough out of the water to think in full sentences. Loki licked the excess off Clint’s lips – and stole a kiss to make him giggle.

“Close your eyes.”

A gold wash, pressure, and then Clint blinked open.

The sudden flood of vision was overwhelming. But when he managed to focus again, he let out a slightly hysterical laugh. Because after everything they’d just done, the grand finale – was a number ‘19’ shaped candle in white and violet stripes, the ‘1’ half melted already, stuck into a slice of chocolate mud cake that Loki was holding in front of his face.

“Cake,” he surmised stupidly.

Loki’s indelible smile kicked up a notch.

“So it would seem,” he drawled. “What is it I’m supposed to say? Oh yes…”

Holding the cake with one hand, he held the other up and snapped his fingers. _Hisss-pop!_ The wick burst aflame with a small shower of gold sparks.

“Make a wish, pet.”

Clint grinned like he hadn’t done since he was five years old. Squeezed his eyes shut, drew an enormous breath, and blew out the candle.

“Nineteen,” he announced triumphantly. “Wanna know what I wished for?”

“No,” Loki replied. He plucked the candle out and threw it over his shoulder, whereupon it vanished midair. “I want it to come true.”

Then he broke off a piece of cake and popped it into his own mouth.

“Mmm… Now, _this_ custom, I can see the attraction. This chocolate, especially. I really must convince Thor to invade. We need this.”

He ate another bite and pretended not to see Clint eyeing the cake hopefully with increasingly round eyes, kneeling up, barely his fingertips on the floor and wriggling to get his attention.

“Oh! Sorry,” he said, almost halfway through the slice, like he just remembered Clint was still here. “Would you like a fork?”

Clint blinked in surprise, not realising that was an option. Then glanced down bashfully, shaking his head.

“So, you don’t want the rest?” Loki concluded. “I’m devastated. I shall have to eat all of it myself.”

“What? No! I…”

Loki blinked owlishly at him with emerald green eyes. “Yes, pet?”

Clint fidgeted. Licked his lips.

“I… Would you… Feed me? Please?”

Loki beamed.

“Say ‘ah’…”

 

Loki fed him from his hands, making him beg for every bite with his tongue out, craning his neck. At the end of each slice, he tipped the crumbs into his cupped palm and had Clint lick it clean. Clint was in chocolatey heaven.

After a while, he began shivering continuously. Loki conjured their duvet to wrap around his bare shoulders. Clint eventually snuggled up in between Loki’s legs and lay pillowed on his thigh while Loki ate the remainder of a slice, stirring only to lick Loki’s fingers clean. When he started sliding down Loki’s leg, the demigod picked him and the duvet up, took him to bed and tucked him in. Climbing in beside him, he took off the leash – but left the collar when Clint stopped him with a sleepy grumble and a hand on Loki’s wrist that turned into a proper teddy bear hug when Clint rolled over onto his shoulder.

“So...” Loki murmured, wiping away tear tracks, “did I get it right this time?”

A smile ghosted over Clint’s face. 

“Next year…” he mumbled, “same again next y…”

He was asleep before he could finish the word.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHH!!!! Thank you everyone who's made it this far through the longest continuous scene in all of history. Possibly one more chapter for morning after and other silliness. Thanks to all your wonderful comments and kudos, there will definitely be more in this series (I am a sick, sick puppy and I have many ideas). Stories will be episodic and non-chronological, with just a hint of plot down the line. Basically this is my porn dump. 
> 
> Please lemme know what you thought! This is my first kink piece, so I'd really love to know what worked/what didn't. Especially if I handled any of the kink wrong / left out warnings, etc. Thanky'all!


	5. Morning after & outtakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-indulgent fluff not intended to progress story at all. Sorry, not sorry ^^

Clint woke gradually to the bright, buttery light of a summer’s day leaping off the bedroom walls. The alarm clock read 11:56, June 19th.

Sighing contentedly, he closed his eyes again.

Loki was warm against his back – a little too warm, under the covers, but he wasn’t going to complain. He certainly wasn’t going to move, since his bones had turned to blancmange and his tendons to custard. Little pieces of his brain were still washing up on the shore. But he would deal with that later… Maybe when the dopy grin had worn off his face, or when he stopped replaying last night in his head every time he closed his eyes. He didn’t think he could ever look a candle in the eye again…

_Wait._

Clint forced his eyes open again. Stared at the clock.

It was _noon_.

“Shit!”

He sat bolt upright. Then froze, choking, because moving was bad, moving was _awful._ He felt like he’d been flayed alive, had a cannon fired up his ass, and then been dragged behind a stampeding rhino. He hurt. _Everywhere._

A pale hand spidered out from under the covers to grab his arm. Clint batted it away, wincing as he tried to roll off the bed, but Loki – face down, hair a mess around him, shoulders bare and glowing softly with light – dragged him back without the appearance of having woken up.

“Dude, seriously, this is not the – _ow_!”

 _Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._ His phone was doing a jig on the table.

Flailing, Clint nabbed it with his fingertips just before Loki hauled him back against his chest and slung an arm over his shoulders. Clint tried fruitlessly to elbow him in the ribs but all the contact and sliding on the sheets was setting his tender skin on fire.

“Zee?” Clint managed to get the phone to his ear, wedged against the pillow, before Loki could slap it out of his hand. “I am so, so sorry. I’ll be there in like, ten minutes, I just gotta–”

“ _No, no, it’s cool. Relax. You’re ah…_ ‘roomie’ _called ahead,_ ” replied the girl on the other end, stage whispering the ‘roomie’ crackling into Clint’s ear with audible air quotes. “ _I’ve got you covered._ ”

“My- my roomie… _What?_ ”

“ _Yeah, he said something about wanting to celebrate your birthday… special plans…_ ” He could actually hear the eyebrow waggle when she asked, “ _How ya feelin’?_ ”

Clint flushed like a peach in the sun.

“Christ, I will _kill_ –” he began, but trailed off with a gasp when Loki pinched him hard on the inside of his thigh.

There was an answering intake of breath from the other side.

“ _Oh my god, he’s with you, isn’t he?_ ” she murmured conspiratorially. Clint could picture her ducking behind the door to the storeroom, hand over her mouth and a glint in her eyes. “ _You’re in bed right now, aren’t you?_ ”

“N-no? What? That’s– I was—” Clint scrambled, and then ruined any chance of recovery by squealing directly into the phone as Loki scraped sharp nails over his ribs.

Zee’s raucous giggling was the death knell to his dignity.

“ _I’ll see you tomorrow, birthday boy. Have fun! Oh, and tell Lu ‘thanks’!_ ”

“Hang on, it’s not– that’s–!”

Loki had the courtesy to wait for the beep before wresting the phone out from under Clint’s ear and making it disappear. Pressing his face into the pillow, Clint groaned with despair.

“Sleep,” Loki decreed into his neck. 

“You’re a horrible person,” he grumbled, still blushing. “And how did you get her to cover my shift? She never works Thursdays.”

Loki flapped his hand dismissively where it rested over Clint’s hip.

“There was a car she wanted…”

“You got her a _car?!_ ” Craning around, Clint pushed his out lower lip and glared accusingly at him. “You haven’t even gotten _me_ a car…”

Realising that his edict was not going to be obeyed, Loki propped himself up on his side and rolled Clint onto his back.

“Because,” Loki explained, laying a hand flat over Clint’s heart, “what I want from _you_ , I don’t intend to pay for.”

Then he dug his nails into the hard bone of Clint’s sternum and scratched all the way down his belly. Clint arched, hissing through his teeth. The burns, though light, had begun to blister overnight, and they _hurt_. But while he squirmed, he definitely didn’t complain when Loki leaned over him and did it again.

 

 

 

 

\----

Outtakes #1 

[](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/tinglebop/media/DIPouttakes1_zpsccbde26d.png.html) 

[ ](http://s1381.photobucket.com/user/tinglebop/media/f835de4a-99f4-4cb7-a612-bc01bcf042c4_zps5655ed97.png.html)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....So that was a day well spent (I'm especially proud of Clint's super generic face). 
> 
> Part 2 in the series is planned and awaiting my lazy arse to be written... but in the meantime, lemme know if you want me to stop posting dumb comics. I mean I'll still do them, but I'll spare you the notifications =)


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